Things are settling down

So, let's see...

1. Preschool went from bad to worse. Emily cried more every day, until this past Monday when she started crying when I turned the corner to go down the street to the school -- up til then she'd at least been happy when she got there. A lot of long boring conversations with her teacher later, we decide to pull her out, although her teacher feels like we should try again in Nov. or Dec.

I desperately want her to have the academic advantages of the Montessori curriculum but don't think the class structure really works for Emily's personality, and I have some deep problems with the parent board of the school (long boring story which I'll spare you).

So instead, my plan is to put her into a more "traditional" preschool (lots of group activity, circle time, more play-based, and only 2 days/week, with a smaller class), see how that goes, and then maybe, but probably not, reconsider Montessori next fall when she's 4. Getting her out of there was a huge relief.

2. I was able to switch meds -- I'm now on Lexapro -- and the difference is incredible. Not that I'm exactly happy, but I'm no longer constantly angry/irritated/impatient/wanting to die. I am patient with Emily and I can cope with life in general, which frees up energy to deal with the stuff that needs to be dealt with in other areas.

3. All 3 of us have had colds -- Emily first, then me, and now Jon.

4. Had bloodwork re-checked, as followup from June. My cholesterol is HIGHER, and apparently my thyroid is on the outs. What the fuck? How did I become middle aged all of a sudden? I really don't understand the cholesterol thing especially, because we've made a really good effort with our diet, but apparently not good enough. I haven't been exercising, since about mid-August, and I've been completely stressed/depressed/burned out, which I can't help but think has something to do with why my body is starting to function less well.

The thyroid thing is weird, too. I do know women tend to have problems with this more than men, especially after having children, but I wonder what effects diet, stress, exercise or other factors might have in it as well?

I hate that all my medical care is so fragmented -- the primary care doc doesn't talk to the midwife doesn't talk to the therapist, although the therapist at least works with the psychiatrist.

Also, when I was given the bad news about my cholesterol, they recommended "dietary changes". I asked them if they could be more specific and they said, "Well, there's Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, etc."

I pointed out that in theory I could eat my allotted calories/points/whatever all in hamburgers, bacon or cheese, which would still cause me to lose weight if I kept within my allotment but would probably kill me rapidly in terms of cardiovascular health.

I asked if they could possibly refer me to a nutritionist -- I may be a foodie, and well-versed in nutrition, but what I need help with is the practical aspect of putting together a new way of eating, factoring in what I like, what's good vs. bad for me, and my diminished energy and time for cooking.

I'm sure you can guess -- insurance doesn't pay for a nutritionist. Perish the thought! However, if I do have a heart attack and become a candidate for quintuple bypass, they'll cough it right up (after some amount of paperwork and phone calls). Never mind that several sessions of nutritional counseling do not even begin to approach a fraction of the cost of a bypass operation and acute cardiac care. What the fuck? How fucked up is that?

5. I'm very slowly, but surely, going through all of our file cabinets/boxes of papers/junk and sorting things out, and finding some cool stuff -- cartoons and sketches of mine, other art projects, stuff from the past (my hospital invoice from delivering Hannah, for example). It's fun and therapeutic, but my time is limited right now since all my morning free time got hosed with the Montessori debacle, and I'm not sure yet how the other school will work out.

Not much else interesting (not that the preceding was actually interesting) to report. My sinuses are doing terrible things right now, so I'll sign off.

Just when you thought I was through... yes, even MORE of the same

Well, I'm still pretty much in the same place I was last time. I hate this. It's hampering my ability to parent. It's disrupting my marriage and our family life -- not very dramatically, but it is taking its toll. Jon is far too good of a person and too strong to give up on me, at least so far, but I hate that he is having to go through this with me, when he has grief of his own, work stress, whatever else he has, and then on top of it all he has to come home and deal with me and my inability to cope. This is not good.

It is getting to the point where the impact of this bog of grief/depression/non-functioning is having almost as much of an impact as a physical disability or perhaps a chemical dependency would. And I really, really don't know how to fix it. I don't know if it's the meds, or if it would be worse without them. I almost feel like I need a new brain. I even wonder about shock therapy. I realize that's probably unrealistic and unnecessary, but the idea of getting an actual jolt of electricity almost sounds like it would help -- like maybe that's what I need, something to actually shake up and help resettle whatever is going wrong with me.

I need to find out if my therapist (nice sixty-ish white-haired guy whose appearance, conversation and manner don't scream "COMPUTER LITERATE", but I could be wrong) has e-mail. The idea of giving him access to this is a great one. I can't manage to share what I need to share in one fifty-minute hour each week or two.

Man, this SUCKS. I'm so, so tired of this.

A bit more of the same

The sadness is really hitting me hard. I think in a way that's better than just being enraged and frustrated with everything all the time, though. I believe that is part of how I block the sadness because I'm so afraid of actually feeling it.

This afternoon I found all the unlabeled videos, nearly all of which, I'm sure, have some amount of Hannah video footage. Mostly between ages 6 months to 2 years old; we seemed to stop taking so many videos then and did more stills.

I do have some great stuff that other friends took -- one in particular I will always treasure, and I think I will show it to Emily when the time is right. The day I went into labor with Emily, my friend Pam came over to pick up Hannah so she could spend the day there, giving me a break and playing with Pam's daughter Laura (preschool buddy). I didn't realize I was actually in labor until a bit after Hannah left.

So after Jon comes back home, and we decide to go to the hospital, I call Pam to let her know the situation. She then got out her video camera and while filming, told Hannah the news that we were going to the hospital so that the baby could come out. Hannah was absolutely overjoyed and excited -- jumping up and down and yelling about how her baby sister was coming. I will always be so grateful to Pam for having the foresight to videotape that moment.

So I watched a few of the baby videos today. Oddly enough, they didn't make me as sad (after I'd already had a crying jag in the a.m.). Instead, they just made me feel happy, as though somehow she wasn't completely lost to us, and reliving a lot of the memories was fun too. Her first birthday party is a very special one, not just for the occasion, but for old friends who were there at the party, people we haven't seen for a long time and are missed.

I also felt a completely egotistical swell of pride at seeing how absolutely gorgeous she was as a baby, and how smiley and happy her disposition was. She was like the kind of baby you see in baby shampoo commercials or in movies -- just completely adorable. From the first minute of her life until the very end, I was so completely proud of her (even when she drove me batshit crazy). Everyone was so taken with her, was charmed by how she always smiled at and tried to interact with everyone she saw, how much joy she seemed to be always filled with. That never changed. She had so many friends, and wanted to make friends with everyone she ever met. Everybody who ever taught her or coached her or babysat her adored her. I remember the first time I had a conference with Laura W., her preschool teacher. After talking about the concepts and activities that the kids were doing, and telling me how well Hannah was settling in and how much fun she was having, she said: "Well, whatever you're doing with her, just keep doing it -- she is a joy to have in my class."

She had her moments, her annoying habits, the occasional tantrum or bratty spell, and was quite proficient at whining when she wanted to be, but looking back, she really was an easy child (after the colic stopped). I just wonder why a kid like that had to be taken away so early. She would have made some kind of difference in the world. I don't even know how to express it without it sounding like a eulogy.

That makes me feel even worse about my difficulty coping with Emily. It's like in a way I find no joy in parenting any more, and it isn't because of Emily at all -- it's because I am not well. I love Emily, as I loved Hannah, with every fiber of my being and then some. I have happy times with her every day, we do have a very strong bond -- I even miss her at night sometimes, when she's in her room and we're in ours, and I am proud of her too. But I do not feel the same joy I felt with Hannah, or the same excitement about her future, or the same savoring of even the small moments with her.

Am I, on some level, angry because she isn't Hannah? I haven't wanted to even consider that but I can't account for my overall feelings any other way. I have to repeat here that it isn't actually Emily I have the problem with -- but the loss of Hannah and the emptiness that her absence has created in me. I am just not a whole person any more, and I don't know how to be, or if it's even possible. It's almost like the grief is just now setting in, which seems crazy considering it's been 21 months since the accident.

But I don't want to ruin Emily's life or her emotional well-being with my grief or anger or depression. I want her to know that she is just as important, that we love her as much and are proud of her, and that she doesn't have to do anything to make up for Hannah's absence -- we just want her and love her as she is. But then WHY can't I actually COPE with the simple everyday reality of Emily? It's like there's some kind of noise or wall or something that prevents me from tapping into the love and joy I have with her and just LIVING it, constantly and always. It comes and goes in jagged irregular patches, and sometimes there is far too much nothingness in between those patches of joy.

Maybe I don't let myself feel my love for her as much because there is too much at stake -- I absolutely cannot go through anything like this again and for some reason, on some level, I'm afraid to be close to her in case something happens.

??? I don't know. I know this is one for the therapist, but I have a hard time opening up about this stuff even to him. I can kind of talk about it with Jon, but it's difficult, because he's also under a crushing emotional load and we both need to be at least minimally functional.

In which the title of this blog becomes even more apt...

It's unconscionably self-centered and vile of me to be dwelling on this when there is a lot more genuine suffering and need out there that I could somehow help with. Things could be so much worse. I can be miserable in a comfortable home in a nice neighborhood with the benefits of: electricity, running water, food, internet and phone access, functional cars, loving and supportive husband, healthy and beautiful daughter, reasonable financial security and resources; extended family (at least figuratively speaking), good friends. I'm not sitting in a shelter in my own feces, dehydrated, starving, wondering where my child and husband are, injured and traumatized from watching my own home become submerged and destroyed.

But:

I have been feeling so utterly paralyzed/angry/depressed/non-functional, and I think it's the cumulative effect of the following: this time of year (school/halloween/approaching holidays); PMS; the hurricane; that I barely have any adult contact at all except for Jon in the evenings (while Emily does her damnedest to make sure we are unable to converse or accomplish any tasks without her interference); that my one really good friend here is going through some stress of her own and I don't want to lean on her any more than necessary; that I absolutely cannot even BE a parent any more -- all I do is yell and snap and threaten (as in "your toys are going in the trash if you don't pick them up"). She watches far too much TV and plays too many computer games, doesn't get nearly enough active outside time, because I just can't be bothered.

I think what I need is not just downtime for myself, but to finally start doing things that I'm actually interested in. Maybe find an art class or two -- I haven't drawn or painted in over 10 years, although I do graphic design work now and then. Start looking for a cheap-ish 2nd hand piano and start playing again -- took lessons for 10 yrs as a child/teen and really miss it. Something that intellectually challenges me, taps into my creativity and talent (I do have some!), that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with being a parent or even a wife.

It's like I have no energy or motivation of any kind. I'm in one of those moods where even taking a shower seems like a huge effort and just too pointless to even consider. Despite being a foodie and an absolutely fantastic cook (no false modesty!), I have no interest in preparing meals. Granted, cooking every night and having to try to make sure your picky-ish three-year-old gets adequately fed does take its toll. But it's the kind of thing where nothing even sounds good -- looking at recipes, etc. it all sounds just kind of unappealing and tasteless. I do eat a bit more crap lately than I need to, but I think some of it is a function of the PMS.

Even reading, movies, etc. -- things that are never-fail remedies -- just fall short. Nothing I'm reading is interesting, nothing *sounds* interesting or intriguing. Most movies I get bored with halfway through; even if they're excellent I seem to have trouble concentrating and following a story.

I have no idea how to pull myself out of this. I have a fabulous therapist who is a great help, but I feel like it's at the point now where it would be a lot more helpful if he would just move in with us, or stay permanently connected by two-way radio or something. I'm on meds (Wellbutrin) but I think it's either the wrong dose or the wrong med -- it seemed to help for a while and now it doesn't at all.

I do want to do a permanent memorial of some kind, for Hannah -- like a website (is that permanent?!). What I wish I could do first is just get myself ORGANIZED -- just dig out from under the mounds of papers, files, old clothes, just plain CRAP that is littering up my house. I'd give anything to be on the Clean Sweep or Mission Organization shows; that's pretty much exactly what I need right now.

We have liftoff

Well, she has officially been launched into a new stage of life. It went well. She walked right into her classroom with her teachers; she got the teachers I specifically wanted her to have; she apparently did great and came out happy, told me all about stuff they learned about (mostly just orienting them to the room, where the bathroom is, what some of the materials are for, where they keep their backpacks/etc.

I took her out for a celebration lunch (Boston Market -- what can I say, she's 3...) and some ice cream. She then took a 2-hour nap, the first one in a while. She woke up, we made pumpkin bread, then played outside until Jon got home. Chatted with some neighbors, quick dinner, played some more and bedtime.

She's like a different kid.

I think this is exactly what she has been needing, desperately. You could just see her feeling bigger and older, being completely captivated by something new and fun.

And now I feel even sadder because it brings back so many memories of Hannah starting preschool, and because now Emily really isn't a baby or toddler any more like she was when Hannah was still here. I can't even pretend that Hannah's just temporarily gone. Too much time has passed, too visibly and concretely.

It was also brought to the forefront because I met with Emily's teachers for a bit after class was over and told them about the accident, Hannah's death, and Emily's and my injuries. I just wanted them to be aware of it from the very beginning so that if Emily talked about it or other issues came up about topics like family members, or safety, or who knows what, that they wouldn't be taken by surprise and they'd have an idea of how to handle it with the other kids and with Emily. The principal already knows, I talked to her the other day.

On the whole I'm glad that we've gotten to this stage. I think both Emily and I were ready for a change, and I have a very comfortable, confident feeling about all of this -- I believe she'll thrive at this school, and we'll each have some time to pursue our own interests and growth, and the time we have once she's home from school will be better because we'll each have had some space and respite.

But it's still sad, too.

It could always be worse, though.
My god. Those poor souls left in the wake of Katrina's destruction. I have no words at all. All I can do is be very glad that we're safe and alive and together, and find some way to help, even if it's pretty insignificant in the big picture. I know that I can't even begin to imagine or understand what they're going through.

Still, and I know this is way out of line and presumptuous to even think it: something about seeing the magnitude of the disaster and starting to realize how long it will take before anything is even close to livable, let alone normal, reminds me of when I first realized Hannah was dead. It was complete chaos. How could we wrap our minds around something like this? And how could we live with it? That's why I clung to some kind of fantasy that somehow it would be undone, that she would be brought back or just some miracle would happen, because it was simply unimaginable that it was real and permanent.

I do know that if she were here she'd want to do something to help the survivors, especially the children. While I understand completely that I'm biased, I think it's safe to say that she had a capacity for compassion and empathy that was a bit beyond what I'd imagined a five-year-old was capable of. The time that her friend Maddie's mother died, for instance. Or even when we read The Lorax and she became upset because a new shopping center was being built near our neighborhood (for which several wooded acres were cleared and leveled) and cutting the trees might destroy everything around us.

Never mind. I can only imagine how I'd be rolling my eyes if anyone else I knew wrote something like this about their kid; how delusional can a besotted parent be? People who didn't know her personally will just have to take my word for it. Or not.

School days

Well, the YSU strike(s) is settled, just in time for classes starting yesterday, so Jon is back at work, his job is not in jeopardy, and we can get back to normal on that front. It was a hard week, let me tell you. Both Jon and I are suddenly experiencing what we think are physiological panic attacks -- random attacks of nausea/shortness of breath, difficulty sleeping. We just panicked because him losing his job was really the last thing we needed. I know it's not reasonable, but I just feel like we deserve a pass of some kind. The last two years have been HELL and I think we need a break.

And... Emily's first day of preschool is tomorrow. It's not a "real" day -- just the three-year-olds are coming in for a couple of hours to their classroom(s) while the parents are in the other room getting their indoctrination -- orienting them to school schedule/routines, signing up for committees, propaganda about the fundraiser, that sort of thing.

Emily's a little nervous -- she has random episodes of misbehaving, where she will do something like suddenly bolt away from me in a store or grab stuff on the shelf (she never does this usually), or decide to throw a fit when we remind her to wash her hands after going potty. That kind of stuff. Also she's intermittently clingy, in between being adamant about doing all kinds of stuff "by myself" (shampooing hair, etc.).

I hope she settles in soon. As desperate as she is for the company of other kids, and as bored as I'm beginning to realize she is just being at home, I can't imagine it'll be too hard. Her favorite babysitter's mother teaches the adolescent class at the school, and so she knows that Sophy's mom is there and that seems to please her. She is also jazzed about her new backpack (thanks Denise) and the "inside" shoes we bought. (They wear slippers or inside shoes while inside and change to regular street shoes when they go out -- keeps the floors a lot cleaner, which I like.)

I am feeling so torn about this. I'm burned out beyond anything I could have imagined. I NEED some time to myself on a fairly regular basis. I love being home with her but am getting so frustrated with it at the same time. And yet, the idea of her not being here for a few hours each day freaks me right out.

I think perhaps one reason I've gotten to this point of burnout is because without realizing it, I've been hypervigilant about her safety and well-being. I was always a borderline "hover" mom, but with Hannah, apart from her being my first (and therefore my being more nervous), it was easier to let go if I knew she was comfortable and happy.

Hannah's first day of preschool went something like this: We pulled into the parking lot; she unstrapped her car seat and opened the door almost before I could get around to her side of the car; she jumped out and grabbed my hand and RAN to the school; once we were at the classroom door she dropped my hand, RACED inside, and made a beeline for one of the painting easels, saying over her shoulder, "Bye Mommy, you can go now." That pretty much set the tone for all of preschool and even kindergarten, which I thought would be a bigger transition for her. She took it right in stride, though.

I felt very mildly misty while walking (being pulled by) her into school, but seeing how incredibly excited and happy she was, I very quickly became comfortable with it and by the time I got back to the car, was salivating to get myself over to the bookstore and camp out with an iced coffee and People. It was a great, great school year.

But since losing Hannah I think I've been extremely OVERprotective of Emily, at least physically. I still make her hold my hand inside the mall, in the library, wherever. If she runs ahead of me even five feet I panic and bark at her to get back to my side. At the park it's a little easier because the tot playground is enclosed and you can pretty much see every part of it from every bench. But lately she's wanted to go to the "big kid" part of the park and I can barely handle that -- I feel like I have to go through every single piece of equipment with her because I cannot let her out of my sight, and preferably reach as well. I freak out if she looks like she might fall off a couch or bed or anything else; I am very picky about who can watch her; it goes on.

I know that sounds somewhat normal for the parent of a three-year-old, but what isn't normal is the constant panic I feel whenever we're anywhere other than my house, or the house of a trusted friend or family member -- like I have to be in CONSTANT surveillance. I dread taking her anywhere else unless I *know* she will hold my hand (she doesn't always want to and it's a battle) or if she's willing to go in the stroller, which she now is if she knows it's going to be a horrifically long walk. I don't let her so much as stand out on the front porch even if I'm right inside the front door -- if I have to run in and get something I forgot, she comes in too, even if she remains in my sight the whole time she's outside. I think the sense of panic and alarm I constantly feel is what's taking the stuffing out of me.

It has taken a while for me to figure this out. I was protective of Hannah, and in some ways was more uptight when she was really small, because I was brand-new at this. But I didn't feel this constant fear, this tightness in my chest and stomach (sadly, my stomach only feels tight from the inside, so it hasn't affected my appearance for the better). It is just that in a way the stakes are even higher -- if something happens to Emily or we lose her somehow, then I really can't survive. Life would literally be over.

I know that if we had another child, it would help in some ways -- Emily would have someone else around in her general age group; it would diffuse the intensity of our focus on her; it would give us more of a sense of our family being complete. But I'm not ready to do this and don't know if I'll ever be. I think right now I can't make an informed, objective decision (well, not that anybody ever makes an informed objective decision to have kids -- it isn't about that), but maybe after she's gotten used to school and I feel a little less stressed, I can give it some more thought.

Also Emily starting school really makes Hannah's absence so much more obvious and painful. Even seeing the Halloween candy that's starting to creep into the stores makes me sad.

I just don't know HOW you do it!

The title of this may come across as somewhat snarky, but it isn't meant to be. It struck me that so many people (almost everyone I've ever known or met who knew about Hannah's death) have said to me in various ways over the last 20 months, that they just don't know how we do it -- having this incredible heartbreak, how do we manage to get up every day and live our lives?

I know that before this happened to me I was absolutely astounded that anyone could go on with life in any kind of everyday fashion after a loss of this magnitude. In fact, I still think that when I meet people who have had losses like ours or even greater.

One reason why we do get through every day despite this loss is that we do have so much else in our lives, good AND bad, that needs our energy and focus and love (or disgust in the case of Jon's employer!). The majority of this is Emily -- and I absolutely cannot imagine how we would be doing if for some reason we had either lost her, too, or just never had her. That is the only reason that I am sitting here now posting this. Without her we simply wouldn't be here, one way or another.

That's part of why it feels so bad to be having so much trouble coping with her -- she really is a gift, and I believe she is why we're alive and functional today as a family, and yet all I feel is resentful, inconvenienced, frustrated and bored. I love her desperately but right now I just don't like being a stay-at-home mother to a three-year-old.

Some of this is grief and depression, some of it may well be just plain burnout -- I've been doing this for over seven years now -- and I also miss my work. Not the being an employee part (let's just say Dilbert cartoons eerily parallelled most of my corporate work days), but I loved the work I did -- graphic design -- and want to find some way to get back into it without having to be away from Emily more than I need to.

I do know I'm beyond fortunate to even BE in a position where I'm bored and frustrated being a stay-at-home parent. I think of single mom friends I have, and realize it could be SO different and so much harder; that this is what I chose, and I need to find a way to make it work better for me AND my family.

And just in case this isn't complicated and self-pitying enough, get this: I feel slightly panicky at her starting preschool, even though I've counted down the SECONDS on bad days. It's going to be weird having three hours to myself (more or less) every weekday morning. I do find that it's when I *do* have complete "me" downtime that the sadness hits.

I have all kinds of things I want to do with that time -- exercise (stuff I like, not boring classes or anything), catch up on stuff around the house, work on a couple of freelance (emphasis on FREE) design projects, just hang out at the bookstore drinking foofy coffee drinks and reading People while my brain shuts down for a bit. But it sounds kind of empty anyway.

EVery. FUCKing. TIME.

Well, every couple of years or so, Jon gets a new job. This happens because after the first year at any given new job is completed, suddenly the shit hits the fan.

At Pall, it was because the guy who hired him in was basically just using him to get his own promotion ("Look! I got a Ph.D working under me!") and once the promotion was attained, he regarded Jon as more of a threat. Made things highly unpleasant for Jon, so he found another job.

At NT2 (biotech startup), it went swimmingly for a bit over a year; then the guy who owned/ran the company missed a couple of grant application deadlines for funding the company's research, and pfft, the company had to fold. This was a month before our accident. Good times, good times.

So here we are. Jon has finished his first year as a prof. at YSU.

POOF! Now they're on strike -- the faculty, I mean. The rest of the employees (clerical, technical, non-academic professionals, maintenance, etc.) have been on strike for a week now. So for the moment, we're without health insurance (until COBRA kicks in, if the strike goes on for more than a week), the term is supposed to start a week from today, and it's total chaos. Jon, not knowing if the strike will last a day, a week, or the entire semester, is still working frantically to get his lectures written and the materials assembled for his class. The research he was starting is now impossible to do, because he is not going to cross the picket line. He needs to get a couple of papers published and one more grant application submitted in order for tenure to happen. OK, he has somewhere between 4 to 6 years to accomplish this, but still.

WHEN? THE? FUCK? WILL? WE? EVER? JUST? GET? TO? LIVE? OUR? LIVES? WITHOUT? ALL? KINDS? OF? SHIT? FLYING? STRAIGHT? AT? US??????????

I'm a tad frustrated.

The back-to-school stuff is really bringing up a lot of grief things for me. That's no fun, either.

I read an article that pretty much caused me to shit my pants, hyperventilate, and make a few tin-foil hats to wear just in case: http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/_/id/7203633?rnd=1121636006239&has-player=unknown Don't say I didn't warn you. I've calmed down a bit, but the overall effect (apart from getting us to think more concretely and less theoretically about conservation and money management in our own lives) was to make me feel even more depressed than ever -- like there really is nothing to look forward to.

And finally, I am being driven mad by my inability to cope with perfectly normal, fairly manageable three-year-old behavior on Emily's part. I know it's not her -- it is most definitely me. I am at the point where I just don't think I can even be a parent, sometimes. I just don't know how to get myself to calm down, go with the flow, and just enjoy this stage. Maybe I'm missing Hannah and unconsciously angry because Emily is not Hannah? I don't know. I don't think I even want to face that one.

I'm hoping that once she starts school (9 more days!!!!) and we get settled into more of a daily routine, in which she gets the interaction with other children that she craves so desperately, it all might settle down. Maybe we're just sick of each other and burned out after a long, and decidedly stressful summer.

I love her so much I can't begin to describe it. You mothers out there know what I mean, but it's just impossible to explain. Maybe that is why I get SO frustrated with her -- if I didn't care, stuff wouldn't bother me so much. I want nothing more than to just be happy and content with her and let her just be what and who she is, and not get so fucking anal about her table manners and whether she cooperates instantly or not. She's THREE, not five, or eighteen, or thirty. Why can't I just accept it? She is NOT going to be this way forever -- it's a matter of days before school starts and she will grow even faster than she already is, through learning so many new things.

I am expecting far too much, and she is doing absolutely admirably under the circumstances. I can't take her anywhere without someone commenting to me on how good her behavior is, how well she interacts with people and how charming she is. (Yes, I'm gloating, but the fact is I hear this ALL THE TIME from all kinds of people who see her out in public.) I know that kids generally behave better out in the world, or with other people, than with parents. Even with Hannah, I sometimes wondered if her teachers, and her friends' parents, were talking about MY child -- she was a great, sweet kid, but she definitely pressed my buttons on a fairly regular basis.

I know that I struggled with Hannah at this age, too. I've discussed it here before -- that long, hot summer-before-preschool. No longer a baby, dying to get out and experience stuff, wanting to do everything herself, and yet still so needy, so vulnerable -- it's rough on both of us. I think it's not unlike what middle-school-aged kids and their parents contend with, although the clothes, music and hairstyles are not nearly as cute.

Maybe it's just that I miss Hannah so much -- and the way she was when she left us. Five years old, going to school, so much more independent, having a social life of her own, old enough to be a genuine help with some things, past the toddler stage. I think on some level I'm expecting Emily to behave like this, and she absolutely cannot do it yet. It is simply impossible -- physiologically and otherwise.

And I need to also stop and realize that a year ago at this time, I would have KILLED for her to start behaving even just the way she is now -- able to eat in restaurants with us and actually have it be FUN; not clinging to my leg every time I left the room to empty the dishwasher or take a shit or get some coffee or something; talking so much and so clearly; able to go to stores (mostly) without having her run around trying to grab everything off the shelf and rearrange it on the floor; able to play independently (well, sometimes).

There is also the fact that I am still (VERY reluctantly) nursing her for a few minutes at bedtime, as part of the routine. We have had so many talks about how big kids who go to school don't nurse. No pressure, but just discussion. We g0 down the (long) list of friends she has and none of them nurse any more. We talk about how we can cuddle and read stories and do other things at bedtime. But, she is just not ready to completely give it up, and I'm not sure how far I want to push her right before starting school -- it's a big transition and I think as excited as she seems about it, she's also a bit nervous and apprehensive. Not to mention that I'm sure the tension of the last month -- ILs visit, Zoe's surgery, our concern about the strike/job stuff, a bit of travel -- has had its effect too.

But I think the nursing is part of why I'm feeling so burned-out and resentful. Even if it's only a couple of minutes at night, it's EVERY. NIGHT. and I don't know if she'll go to sleep without it, and I don't want to either make her miserable by not being there, or gut it out and then have her wake up constantly at night because she's upset. I'm so ready to quit this, but I'm too much of a wuss to do what it takes to transition her away from this.

Hannah self-weaned right after she turned 2, when we moved to MI -- she was only nursing at bedtime from about 18 months anyway, and was able to go to sleep without it anyway, like if I was out with friends or something. Around the time we moved she was only doing it once every other day or even less; finally three or four days went by without; I asked her one night if she wanted to, and she just said "No", and that was that.

Well, Emily did kind of self-potty-train, so maybe that means that I just got one freebie per child.

Maybe I'm just in worse shape emotionally than I let myself feel. I do know I suppress a lot, or kind of sublimate it into a more cerebral, cognitive channel. I'm so afraid to actually FEEL my grief. But I think it's my main problem in coping right now. I honestly do not know how to get beyond this and just deal with it and start healing.

Well, guess that's why I have a therapist.

Heartbreaking

Just looking through the entries on our Quicken accounts brings back so much stuff. All the things we got for Hannah starting kindergarten; her soccer pictures and school pictures; birthday presents for her friends; a couple of doctor visit copays... then seeing all the stuff immediately after the accident, stretching on into when we moved here (July 19, 2004).

We spent the last week in East Lansing and Ann Arbor, and it was so great to see friends (Sandy, Stephanie and Denise) who knew and loved Hannah and who went through this with us. Especially because Emily is old enough now to really play with their kids; a lot of them not only were the parents of Hannah's friends but had younger children in Emily's general age range.

It made me miss her even more, though.

We also met with product liability lawyers today. Can't discuss it but I did see a picture of our car, post-crash. That was very, very hard. I couldn't look at it; I had to cover it up and move on to something else.

More later.

Playing ketchup

Well, so the in-laws left on Monday morning. I was absolutely WHIPPED for the rest of the day. Gretchen came over and helped me tidy up a bit while I vented and bitched nonstop. She is a friend to end all friends... I am SO lucky.

Monday night one of my dearest friends (Denise) was passing through town with her husband and kids, on the way to D.C., so of course I had them stay too. Denise was the first friend I made when we moved back to Michigan in 2000. Her son Brandon was essentially Hannah's little brother -- we met when Hannah was just two, and Brandon 3 months old. He was just shy of four years old when Hannah died, and it hit him very, very hard.

Her daughter Elaina is very close in age to Emily -- we were pregnant together for a while -- and the two of them had a blast. Brandon was great too -- I think on some level it comforts him to be around Emily, because she is a lot like Hannah and he is old enough that he probably has a few memories of Hannah.

Denise is one of the most cherished friends I have. Apart from her trying to turn my kids Canadian (getting them hooked on Mr. Dressup, buying ketchup chips) she was like a mother to them -- still is, except we don't get to see her as often.

So we had a blast Monday night and Tuesday morning, but then Tuesday afternoon we came up to beautiful East Lansing, Michigan, so we could be with my family when my sister had her surgery (to repair the aneurysm).

PROFOUND relief
Anyway, she had the surgery today (well, yesterday -- Friday, August 12). I am not a medical person and know nothing about the procedure they did, but apparently they went in through an artery in her leg, and inserted both a stent (or is it stint?) AND some kind of coil so that it essentially blocked off the segment of vessel that had the aneurysm, and the coil supposedly helps hold the blockers in place. We were all scared shitless, because the surgery is a bit risky, but if she didn't have it, this aneurysm bursting would probably kill her instantly, due to its size. But for now she is out of danger. She has had such a complete shit-fest of a summer. I really hope this is it for her and she can finally get her life back.

I think I was more frightened than I realized -- I just felt drained today after I knew she had come out of the surgery successfully. The idea of losing her was so unthinkable that I really didn't even pay much attention to what was going on -- I simply didn't face it - but the tension was there somehow, because when it was relieved today I felt like a wet rag.

What a long, strange trip it's been
So it's been a long couple of weeks. I haven't had my space to myself, or been in my own space, for close to two weeks. Emily's routine is all fucked up, although she's had a great time with my mom -- I think now that she's out of diapers and more independent, my mom enjoys taking her out places -- they spent eight hours playing at the lake yesterday. But the constant attention and indulgence from the grandparents is taking its toll -- she's gotten quite defiant and occasionally rude (in a testing kind of way) and we are definitely going to have to detox a bit from that when we get home, so that she's back to normal by the time school starts (YAAAY!!!).

In other news...
Well, it looks like we have a settlement deal inked with both insurance companies involved in our accident. Emily will be nicely fixed -- not fabulously wealthy, but college will be covered and she can get a hell of a head start on retirement. I get some too, but could not care less.

Then we have to make a decision about pursuing a product-liability suit with the car manufacturer. I really don't want to do it. Jon would like to do it but I know if I was dead-set against it, categorically refused to do it, he would respect my feelings about it. It's too complicated. I wish I could hash out more about it in here, but I really can't. This is the downside of a blog.

A few other tidbits: I seem to be gaining back a little weight (haven't exercised, and am eating some crap due to stress, boredom, and my mother's culinary incompetence); my roots are grown out about an inch and the rest of my hair is beginning to look like Ted Nugent's; and I am sick and fucking tired of summer.

FINALLY...

we have some RAIN already. And it's supposed to be in the 70's tomorrow.

Emily is still pretty much flawless in her pottying performance. I have begun to take risks like taking her to the store or mall without a change of clothes/underwear; slightly longer car rides; etc. and she has risen to every challenge. I am so grateful it worked out this way.

I still can't believe Hannah's gone, especially with Emily getting closer and closer to that general age/stage of development.

A little less chaos

Well, since the last:

1. My dad is still the same, but hanging in there.

2. My sister has her surgery date scheduled, and while scared witless at the prospect of major risky brain surgery, at least has something to work with and is not as depressed; in fact, she's going into work the next few days to straighten some last-minute stuff out (surgery is the 11th) and sounds a lot better when I talk to her.

3. Jon seems fine; dr's appointment was uneventful. Still waiting on bloodwork but essentially certain that there is nothing to be concerned about. We are feeling much better.

4. Emily is still potty-trained. One accident, in seven days. Un-fucking-real. She has expanded her horizons and will use facilities in such exotic locales as the library, the Y, other people's homes, the mall. She's woken up dry the last four mornings, and I will probably bite the bullet and stop putting a Pull-up on at night after another three or four dry mornings.

5. Out of nowhere on Thursday (well, not exactly out of nowhere; I'd made quite a snarky call to the home-warranty company a few hours prior), the most recent electrician showed up with a partner, double-checked the fan, removed the offending burned-out switch (where you could see the burn marks from the wires arcing), made plans to come back next week and install a new switch, and got it approved so that the home-warranty company will pick up the tab.

I can't believe we're already looking at the end of summer. Between the visit, my sister's surgery (which will also encompass a two-day Lake Michigan trip for just me, Jon and Emily to finally get to have SOME fun, plus meeting with our attorney and some product-liability attorneys -- much, much too long a story), Jon having to participate in the summer commencement -- an obligation which is handed around between all the newer faculty, and which has effectively cut what little "vacation" we were going to scrape together in August in half, not to mention two weeks of preschool day camp at the Y at the end of the month, AND preschool starting (thank GOD!), that's pretty much it.

Even as I'm completely relieved by the end of the diaper stage and the approach of school starting, it's also a reminder of how time has passed -- now Emily is at the beginning of the stage that Hannah was just ending when she died. And now a little more than half of Emily's life has been spent without her big sister.

It's a little like the premise of the movie Groundhog Day, which I didn't see, but if I understand correctly, something happens in the Bill Murray character's life which causes him to live the same day over and over again.

For us, it's the same thing on a four-year time frame. Five years ago, in June of 2000, we moved to a new town (Ypsilanti) with two-year-old Hannah, bought a house, settled into the area, made friends, got two-year-old to her third birthday, potty-trained, and off to preschool; had 2nd child after Hannah's 4th birthday; Hannah finished preschool and started kindergarten; Jon lost job, disaster ensued.

So far this past year ('04-'05) has been virtually identical in terms of major events and child development as 2000-2001 was for us.

It's completely irrational, but it does make me wonder if we're on some kind of weird cosmic'karmic schedule here. Are we going to have to go through this AGAIN in 2006? I just can't. I seriously don't think I'd survive another loss.

And yet I still want Emily to have a sibling. It's one of those things where, while I dread yet another pregnancy/infancy/toddlerhood marathon, I DO want two kids. The first three years would be as hard as they have typically been for me, with the added stresses of advanced(er) age and grief, but if we don't do this, would we really regret it 10 years from now? I think it's possible.

I understand that other options are adoption and/or fostering, but I am not very interested in pursuing those. Adoption is extremely expensive, not always guaranteed (especially domestic ones, where you make an agreement with a birth mother), and in the case of adopting an older child/special needs child, I have to be brutally honest with myself and admit that I am simply not capable of handling issues that an older/special needs child would bring. I wish I were stronger, but I have to know my limits to do this right.

Fostering would be hard on all of us, I think. Especially given some of the issues that a foster child might bring, plus the impermanence of it. The thought of bringing a child in, getting attached, and then perhaps having to let them go to another home or back to (bad?) parents is simply impossible. Again, we don't have the emotional resources we need to deal with this.

Aside from considerations like whether/when I want to go back to work (beyond the occasional freelance project), and whether it is even possible (depending on if the reversal worked and if I'm not already getting too old), it seems like the least complicated option is just having our own.

The things I have to get past, before I can do this (if it's even possible at all), is that I am still sort of attached to the idea that if we have another baby, I want another girl. I always wanted girls more, but I think now a lot of it has to do with somehow hoping that we would give birth to another Hannah. Especially since Emily, although she is very much her own person, is like Hannah in so many ways, even looking a lot like her. So it seems like that's the kind of kid we produce.

To have a boy would be such a huge adjustment, at least in the beginning. I think Jon would be happy with it -- he doesn't seem to have a preference at all, and unlike many men, doesn't seem to have any kind of ego investment in having a son for all those "carrying on the name" bullshit reasons; but once we were talking about it and I said that one thing about having a boy that would be an adjustment for me is that a lot of boy stuff just bores the crap out of me -- how everything is turned into a weapon at some point (trust me on this -- every single little boy I have ever known goes through this, and it doesn't matter how he was raised -- whether or not it passes DOES depend on how he was raised); all the action-figure super-hero stuff.

My best friend from age 1 to about age 11 was a boy, and we had a blast together (and I was NOT a girly-girl, ever) but I still remember how everything we drew or pretended or played together had to have some kind of vehicle, weapon, or action figure thing involved.

Jon said that he loved playing with Hannah and Emily but he did occasionally find all the "pink stuff" boring. Hannah wasn't really very "girly" and I don't think Emily will ever be, but just like little boys all go through the gun phase, just about all the little girls I've known (including myself) had at least a temporary brush with pink/Barbie/foofy stuff. Again, whether it passes or not seems to depend more on how the parents are -- I've met far too many grown women who are all pink/Barbie/foofy, and their mothers are generally more inclined that way too, from what I can tell.

People have said many things about me, but nobody has ever described me as a girly-girl, so hopefully it'll pass quickly with Emily (again, if she ever really gets into it to begin with -- she seems less interested in it than Hannah was).

In any case, it's ridiculous to prefer a particular gender for a child just based on that. But I do know that I would prefer a girl -- especially one along the same lines as Hannah and Emily -- and I have to find a way to let go of that before we make this decision.

The other, more serious concern for us, is that considering our (at least my) advancing age, the slightly greater chance that there might be something wrong -- especially if it's something life-threatening. I am going out on a limb here admitting this, but I honestly don't know if I'm up for that. I know many, many people deal with these issues with their children, but I don't know if I can. On the other hand, I have a tendency to catastrophize. Maybe it wouldn't be such a huge deal. But I have to be a lot more sure of what I can handle and what I can't, again, before making this decision.

What next?

1. My dad, although he's making another attempt at sobriety, appears to be in the early stages of Alzheimer's, and seems to need a lot of help managing stuff.

2. My sister, who could help with this, is at the moment indisposed, from a brain bleed she suffered in May. It resolved itself, but further investigation revealed a weak spot (aneurysm) on another vessel, a much larger one than the one which apparently burst in May. She would have had surgery to repair it in May, but was given an anti-seizure med (Dilantin, I think) although she had not had a seizure. She ended up developing a severe (potentially fatal, but it was caught in time) reaction to the drug. A syndrome called Stevens-Johnson syndrome. Scary stuff if you google it. So, she is recovering from that; meanwhile, her docs have been saying week after week that they'll have a surgery date asap. As of yesterday they still didn't have one (that was to be the day when they WOULD establish one) so I called them and raised hell, invoking not only her stress but the stress on the family from watching her go through this, the fear of losing her, and the added emotional burdens of having had a very tragic loss in our family recently, to say nothing of Zoe's (my sister) medical-leave issues with work. Apparently it got through to them, so now a date is set. My MOM even called and thanked me. Very unusual.

3. Jon noticed something on Saturday which scared the shit out of him, thinking it might be prostate cancer (his dad had a bout with it about 10 years ago, but recovered completely and more or less unscathed). So we had a hideously bad night and morning (last night and this morning) until he called the urologist he'd seen in MI, who reassured him that what he noticed was very common (we didn't know this) and very unlikely to be even slightly related to prostate issues. Since he has had no other symptoms whatsoever, and having researched this fairly exhaustively today, it seems that all will probably be well. He has an appointment tomorrow just to rule anything else out. The thought of losing him too absolutely destroyed me, not to mention his fears.

4. However, Emily has taken matters into her own hands and in a matter of 72 hours, has gone from being in diapers all the time to completely self-reliantly potty trained (except for a diaper at night, mostly because of my own paranoia and laziness -- I don't want to wake up at 3 a.m. to change sheets). It has been almost surreal. Items 1-4 in this list have been occurring more or less simultaneously, so my neurons are stretched to their limits trying to sort it all out.

5. Meanwhile, since early June, we have been waiting for someone -- anyone -- to come out and fix our attic fan, which shorted out on us in the middle of one night and probably would have caused a fire and killed us if Jon wasn't such a light sleeper. So, now we have a dead attic fan with no switch (that's what malfunctioned) which may or may not be still connected to the circuit, and so we have had to shut off that circuit, which supplies power to Emily's room and the guest room, and rig up extension cords (which are arranged as safely as we can manage, although she understands not to play with any electrical items and isn't interested anyway). I honestly do not know what to do to get someone out here. We have a home warranty so have been trying to arrange something through them -- that way we only pay a $95 deductible instead of however many hundreds (thousands?) it might otherwise cost. We had great luck this winter when our furnace motor blew -- that got taken care of within 24 hours -- so this is even more frustrating.

Now that I've bored what few readers I have (or want) into a persistent vegetative state I realize this is pretty parochial -- limited only to personal stuff, mostly a catalogue of disease symptoms, home maintenance problems, and toileting issues, but I think the subtitle of this blog ("Navel-gazing, self-pity, minutiae") is a sufficient disclaimer. There are far more outwardly-focused and witty blogs out there -- two of them are linked here, the rest can be found by randomly scrolling through other blogs using the "Next Blog" button at the top of the page. Not that I have gotten any complaints, but it is wise to cover one's ass and stick boilerplate like this in every so often.

Last night, before all the shit hit the fan medically (with Jon and Zoe), I went to the neighborhood Garden Club party. It was fairly nice -- the woman who lives across the street from me, who I know from a mothers' organization we both belong to, and who is herself reasonably interesting and cool (for Youngstown), went with me, and we sat and talked to each other most of the time, and chatted with a few others. It was the typical card-tables with centerpieces scattered through the lawn, complete with tons of foofy desserts, appetizers, a margarita ball and several bottles of wine (they came in handy). It was just the most middle-class, suburban-matron thing I think I have ever done in my life.

Of course, I know absolutely NOTHING about gardening or anything that grows except for vegetables, fruits and herbs, and that's only because I'm a foodie and love to cook. If I actually had to grow my own stuff I'd be lost. I joined it mainly to meet some of the people in the neighborhood.

This town is not what you'd call tiny; it's on the small side (80K total, something like that) but it's one of those places where people have been for generations; they all have large families, they all went to school with each other, and it seems to be beyond the understanding of many of them that there are actually people who are NOT as intimately familiar with this place as they are. I ask for directions somewhere in the neighborhood and get in response, "Well, it's the house that's 2 doors down from ________ and kitty corner from ________, no wait, they moved, that's the ________'s instead. You can't miss it." The idea that street names and numbers might be more effective and useful does not cross their minds.

Still, this particular neighborhood we live in is quite pleasant. There is almost no racial or ethnic diversity -- everybody is white and most are Italian, except for myself (white but non-Italian) and Jon (multicolored and non-Italian), but you can't have everything.

For the most part everyone has been nice, and will at least nod and wave when passing on the street (people like to walk around here at night), and will sometimes come and introduce themselves (on the pretext of talking with Emily, who loves to chat up anyone and everyone).

Have managed to get myself to the Y to work out the last four days out of five, too. I feel physically a lot better. Mentally I feel like my brain has turned into a runny milkshake, but at least I have more energy.

I'm starting to put myself to sleep, so mercifully this entry is at an end.

Well I'll be dipped in shellac!

Guess what Jon found?

Apparently it was tucked into the storage rack on the inside of our basement door -- where we keep things like batteries, garbage bags, flashlights, AC adapters -- right by the garbage bags. I cannot imagine how it ended up there. As far as I know I didn't take the garbage out after I brought the wallet down after balancing the checkbook. What? The? FUCK???

Anyway, while I no longer need the old drivers license or credit cards, I am overjoyed at getting my Target and Barnes & Noble gift cards back.

I still wonder if Hannah didn't have something, somehow, to do with this. I distinctly remember looking in that very shelf -- I think all of us did, including Gretchen and Mike.

What.

The.

FUCK?

Self-pitying whine; skip if you have a low threshold for boredom.

Well, not really; just that I have no tolerance for frustration.

In fact, I don't even want to bother wasting bandwidth typing about this whole potty-training thing. I will just have a psychotic episode, and bore even myself.

I have gone and worked out the last two days, and plan to at least walk today. I thought perhaps it would help my mood, but whatever beneficial effect it has had emotionally has been canceled out by the abovementioned. However, I will keep it up, because at least *physically* I feel better, and it may help re-kickstart my stagnating weight loss efforts. I've gotten back, too, to keeping track of what I eat; I had gotten quite slack about it in recent weeks, so that probably will make a difference too.

Tonight we're going to leave Emily at Gretchen's house (well, this afternoon); go up to Cleveland to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, then out somewhere nice in the area to eat. Our anniversary is Monday (13 years), but Saturday was when we had childcare available; besides, it's too much hassle to try and go do something major on a "school" night.

Then tomorrow we're going to a party (with Emily) at Dr. W's house. His wife teaches the middle-school level English classes at the Montessori where Emily will be in preschool (IF she ever gets the hang of this potty stuff), and I'm also in her book club (which reminds me, I hope she's returned the book by now...)

Anyway, that's about it. Monday Zoe will finally find out when she has the surgery -- my sister has an aneurysm in a brain vessel and will be having it repaired/closed off, so as to avoid her dropping dead from a brain bleed. I have a hard time even talking about it; the possibility of losing her is just unimaginable. The surgery is quite risky too, so that just adds to the fun.

I feel like there's a lot of catch-up I have to do in this blog. I thought perhaps it would be therapeutic in the way a journal was, but I find myself very much writing for an audience, and so I feel like I have to make sure they know what and who I'm talking about. I don't know why, because there are only four people who know it exists, and while I don't care if it is read by others, I am not planning to promote it either. I need to just get over it, write it like a journal, and if anyone has questions, they can just ask, I guess.

I think I'm just too lazy and distracted right now -- Jon and Emily are downstairs and we're trying to keep the potty momentum going and I feel like I have to keep checking. It's a lot easier to write once she's asleep.

Random crap

Let's see. I met with yet another rabbi this morning -- I'll be re-designing their bulletin. God help me, because it consists of coming up with a new design, creating the template for said design in Publisher, then handing it over to their secretary and seeing just how fast she can destroy the visual integrity of the thing. Still, it's a way to make contacts and show off my skills, if I ever do want to be a productive wage-earner again.

Watched Steel Magnolias tonight on TV. Not the best idea I've ever had. I remember when I first saw it. THE last thing I ever expected was to know EXACTLY what and how the Sally Field character was feeling after the funeral. I absolutely love the movie just as a movie -- completely aside from the subject, I just like the acting and interaction between the main characters -- but it's just too much.

I'm thinking that I need to find a way to put up a page of photos of weird signs around this area. There are some absolutely insane business names and street signs here. One of these days when Jon can watch Emily, I'm going to take the digital camera and finally get shots of all the weird ones. I'd describe a few, but then it would spoil the actual page.

I need some sleep, so that's about it for now. Stay tuned.

There's an old saw...

...about how helping people less fortunate than yourself will help you feel better, or at least help you forget your troubles for a bit.

This seems to be true. I helped Mrs. Rabbi pack intermittently yesterday, and had her and her son over for dinner last night. After seeing the trainwreck that is their packing job -- they have literally waited until something like 48 hours before the movers arrive to start, mainly because Reb Useless did NOTHING up until he left the other day. Unbelievable. All he would have had to do is start a month or so ago, put in one or two solid hours a day (he was unemployed, and home with their son while she worked), and the place would have been packed up and echoing by now. Now, of course, he's at their new town, in a hotel (since their apt. is not furnished yet), and doing things like going to the movies, or out to dinner with new colleagues.

Anyway, after dinner I plied her with wine so she'd start talking, and we sat outside while the kids ran around and played, along with another neighbor and her brood. I'm starting to realize that the disorganization and chaos is both of them, not just him. In part I think hers stems from profound burnout and fatigue.

In any case, I would not trade places with her for one trillion dollars in cash.

Meanwhile, I've gotten my credit cards squared away, gotten a replacement drivers' license, even made sure my library card was cancelled (I'll just go get a new one later), and went to Target and bought the UGLIEST bright neon pink wallet. Nothing else in my entire house is that color, except for a few Barbie-esque toys of Hannah's which still don't come quite near the neon brightness of it. This way it will be much harder to lose, ignore or forget. I am convinced my other wallet is in the house somewhere, but I have not seen any sign of it, and probably won't unless we move or something and it turns out to have been under the TV cabinet or something. I sure hope it's here -- I did also have a $40 Target gift card and a $10 Barnes & Noble one, and I had big plans for them.

Tonight Gretchen and I went out and had dinner and walked around the bookstore a bit. It was nice to get out.

I'm kind of in a weird food/cooking holding pattern -- not only am I still working on weight loss, and not only is the weather unbearably hot, but I recently got a physical and my cholesterol is ridiculously high (at least in my opinion, factoring in age and eating habits) -- 241 total, and I know the good one is also low and the bad one is high and so are the triglycerides. Jon had a physical too and even his cholesterol is up, although lower than mine (his is 211). This is the guy who snacks on things like apples and whole-wheat bread, and who hates cream cheese, butter, cottage cheese, cream, sour cream, etc. with a passion. Meanwhile, I've got a freezer full of various meats that I've stocked up on. I absolutely do not want to throw them out, but I don't want to do any further damage to myself. Jon says we should just chip away at it -- once a week or less for the red meats, and once they're gone, just stop buying them unless it's a holiday meal. I also have a lot of chicken, and we could do a lot of good grilling, I suppose. Then once we've depleted our carnivore stash, we'll go mostly veg except for holidays/company meals/occasional restaurants.

I have done a lot of reading, though, and I've seen one study after another cited which links stress with heart disease/elevated cholesterol, and god knows we've had most of the major life stresses within the last two years alone -- job loss, death of a child, job change, two moves -- plus my dad seems to be in the beginning, but definitive, stages of Alzheimer's, my sister is having brain surgery sometime in the next two weeks -- more about that later -- I'm going nuts being home all day with Emily, etc.

But I can't let this continue. 40 is more or less the midpoint of my life, give or take a decade or so, and I just don't want to let things get progressively worse -- I have a feeling I'm going to need more strength and health in the next ten years or so than I ever have even up until now, with aging parents + growing child + grief all put together.

I really was looking forward to this time as being the time when I could start to have a bit of my own life back, once the kids were not babies/toddlers any more. I wasn't delusional enough to imagine that I'd have anything like REAL free time until I was at least in my mid-50's, but the constant-care-and-supervision era was supposed to be abating a bit, enough to give me time to start pursuing my work again (graphic design) and start doing other fun things, like taking some art classes again, exercising more, spending more time ALONE with Jon. I hadn't factored in aging parents (not sure how I overlooked that one, since I watched my mom go through exactly this scenario 30 years ago, except for the dead child) or profound grieving.

ONE of these days I just want to be able to say to Jon, "Hey, let's go to Europe next month", and only have to concern ourselves with packing, cat-sitting, and passports. I also want this to happen sometime before my 80's, so I can be relatively unencumbered by incontinence products, medications, and ugly support shoes.

Rats.

Well, apparently the anti-depressant effect of helping others wears off after about 24 hours.

It's awfully late, but I think next time I'll address my sister's upcoming surgery (hey, this is already starting to read like an old person's blog...). There is a real chance that we might lose her, and I simply can't wrap my head around that. Really, it's been more than enough, thank you.

Curb Your Enthusiasm

If you're not familiar with it, it's an absolutely hilarious series created by and starring Larry David, who helped create Seinfeld.

Anyway, my day today was a classic Curb episode.

It began when I decided that I needed some time to myself, so I was going to kill two birds with one stone -- drive up to Cleveland to make a Trader Joe's run, get stuff we needed, do some browsing at some of the blingier stores up there, and come back all refreshed.

Only problem was, I couldn't find my wallet immediately. So I looked for it.

And looked for it.

And looked for it. Upstairs. Downstairs. In the basement. In every single drawer in every single dresser in our house. In the refrigerator. In the freezer. Under all the furniture. Behind the refrigerator. In every single bag I have carried for the last year. In all our shoes. In all the toy baskets. In all the bathrooms, kitchen cupboards, in the washer, the dryer. In the garbage -- I'm talking taking the full bag out of the garbage can, emptying it onto a tarp, and sorting through the garbage BY HAND. My friend Gretchen and her husband and son came over and her husband and Jon did the garbage search.

It is GONE. Just. Fucking. GONE.

So the kids were running around outside in the back yard. I said if they wanted to, they could go on Z's slide (the hyperactive son of the bipolar rabbi with the beleaguered wife). Now, there has been a straggly and weedy locust sapling taking root under the slide and playset in their yard. Jon decided that it would be a friendly gesture if he cut it out of there, since it was starting to obscure the ladder and slide, and making the yard look really dingy (well, dingier). Since Reb Bipolar left last week, and Rebbitzin Beleaguered is here on her own with Hyperactive Son while trying to remove five years of just plain clutter and dirt from their house in time for the movers to arrive this coming Wednesday, and since she has had no help whatsoever from the Bipolar one or her son, Destructo, and they have had no bites on the house, we were trying to be helpful.

Well. Turns out that was Z's TREE. His very own tree (straggly stray sapling) that he was growing and nurturing under the slide. So we traumatized him irreparably. So now I feel obligated to go over there tomorrow morning and help her continue with the cleaning/packing/decluttering. I might as well, anyway, because I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING WALLET, WHICH MEANS I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CREDIT CARD, CASH, DRIVERS' LICENSE or anything else that makes life worth living.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

We took Gretchen and her dh and son out to dinner, then went to the park and played until after sundown, so as to avoid our neighbors. Gretchen has literally saved my life -- I honestly do not know how I would survive without her. If I have to be in this town, at least I was given one of the best friends I've ever had as some kind of cosmic compensation.

I also felt nearly suicidal while we were searching for the wallet because without it, I really can't go do anything and I need to get away SO BADLY.

On a more positive note, I talked by phone with Kevin M. (see earlier post somewhere where I mention him). He sounds just like his old self, except sober, and still has the same sense of humor. I am so glad I was able to reconnect with him. Having old friends come back into my life has been one good thing that seems to be stemming partly from this horrific tragedy we've experienced.

I know this will sound weird, but I am starting to wonder if Hannah didn't have something to do with the wallet disappearing.

Several things that were missing before she died, that were important to her, turned up at different times after she was gone. And I've had some things go temporarily missing here that just as mysteriously would turn back up, in a different place than I had remembered leaving them.

Gretchen thought maybe it was a possibility that if I had had my wallet and gone on my planned outing, something bad may have happened. On the other hand, as I pointed out to her, if I had been able to do that, we wouldn't have chopped down the hyperative child's tree (weed) and possibly sowed the seed for a future Unabomber or Sasser-virus creator.

I suck, I know. I shouldn't use his particular condition as a way to make some kind of snarky remark. But fuck it, for right now -- I am just so fucking frustrated, upset, and fucked up, that I'm just going to do it, and be damned.

Child of mine

I just can't wrap my mind around the whole London thing. It is such a shock, and I do not have anything intelligent, perceptive or informed to add to the discussion. All I can say is that I hope some way is found to stop this kind of thing from ever happening again (yeah, that's realistic) and that the victims and their families know that the world is holding them in their hearts.

So about this child of mine...
Three is a damned hard age. At least, it's a hard age for me to parent. I do remember with Hannah that this was the long, hot summer-before-preschool. She got on every. last. nerve, and I'm pretty sure I got on most of hers too. Plus there was the whole potty-training thing to get through, and it's looming large on our event horizon now, and I am panicked.

For some reason she is driving me TOTALLY FUCKING INSANE. I'm not sure how much of it is that there is so much tension (mostly internal) when my mother is around that it takes every bit of energy to cope with that and anything else is just too much, and how much of it is just that this is a really, really tough age.

She has developed several annoying new tricks lately. She will ask me the same question over and over and over again, whether I answer her or not, especially if the answer wasn't what she wanted to hear. We remind me of some Simpsons episodes where Bart is doing this to Homer and Homer is just "No." "No." "No." to each repeated request. I just never expected my parenting to remind me of that particular show, but then again I didn't think my daughter would turn into Bart Simpson at the age of 3.

She's getting defiant; not so much in an aggressive way as a "testing" way -- doing stuff she KNOWS DAMN FUCKING WELL is wrong/illegal; going deaf when I talk to her; talking back, etc. I know this is normal, but my tolerance for any kind of frustration has been profoundly low for the last 19 months or so.

She's also getting very bossy and absolutely hates it when anyone is having a conversation that doesn't involve her directly and as the focus and subject, particularly in the car. She will order us to stop talking because she's trying to talk, etc.

When this is coupled with riding in the car with my mom, who tends to go into absolutely infinitesimal detail and side comments and run-on sentences about what she's talking about [I know *my* style is NOTHING like hers, NOTHING. Shut the fuck up and stop laughing out there. I can hear you. Stop that right now or I'll reach through the screen and poke you in the eye really hard.] and Emily yammering away equally hard from the back seat, it's migraine-inducing.

Also when my mom is here, I feel like I have to run interference between her and Jon (even when they're behaving perfectly well), and when Jon's not home, I feel like I have to tread very carefully all the time.

She absolutely will not, under any circumstances, ever give a direct answer to any kind of question regarding her preferences or wishes; she seems to be almost put out by the fact that Emily will automatically go to ME if she wants something or has a problem, etc. and so when I'm around she won't initiate interaction with Emily. What a fucking immature thing to do.

Actually, it's getting better now that Emily is older and is starting to know her a lot better, but it was like Mom just couldn't bear to not be the "preferred" one. Her need for validation, attention, and admiration is more bottomless than the most egotistical preschooler I've ever met. So having what amounts to two egotistical preschoolers on my hands all day is quite difficult.

At least tomorrow night Jon and I get to go out for dinner by ourselves. Between this grant proposal, his post-proposal-deadline collapse (he was so tired, and the fatigue and grief caught up with him all at once, so he was kind of sluggish and quiet for a couple of days), my mom's visit, and Emily's extremely annoying behavior, I am about to have a psychotic episode. The problem also is that I want time with Jon, but I also want time just to myself, and there isn't enough for both usually, so I have to choose. Either way, I feel like I'm getting ripped off somehow.

I think the thing to do is hire a sitter one afternoon next week, and go see a movie by myself, with perhaps a brief bookstore visit afterwards. That is usually equivalent to 2 Wellbutrins and a therapy visit.

Shitfaced and fancy free...

We went to a goodbye party for our neighbors (the bipolar rabbi, his beleaguered wife, and their hyperactive son) and had a BLAST.

The hosts were great -- he is a physics prof at YSU and he and Jon have several colleagues in common and were chatting away like old friends before 5 minutes had passed.

His wife is an extremely WASP-y looking Grosse Pointe native, but appearances can be deceiving -- she was actually a pretty normal, down-to-earth human being. Go figure.

Emily, also, ran off with two girls (4yo and probably 7yo) at the party before we'd been there five minutes. Usually she velcros herself to my leg for the first half-hour or so. The only downside was she learned about GameBoy and all that other video game crap, but we still aren't ever, ever ever going to buy it.

I had a few glasses of wine and one beer, and lots of great conversations with intelligent people. My god, what a change that was from the usual gatherings we attend. It was *almost* like being back in Michigan.

It feels kind of nice to be a little drunk, too. I can quite see how easy it would be to knock back a few every night. I don't feel wasted; just happy, somewhat energetic, and full of myself. Obviously I can't do this all the time, but occasionally it seems to be good for the soul. I don't want this to become a habit, and in any case, it's one thing to do it at a party and quite another to just do it at home -- it wouldn't be nearly as fun that way.